Insomnia, Gophers, and a Bag of Doritos
by Michelle
Summary: A little peek into what Scully might be thinking after all these years . . .


TITLE: Insomnia, Gophers, and a Bag of Doritos  
  
AUTHOR: Mickey  
  
RATING: Does anyone really care? But, knowing me when I get sleepy, this will be R for language.  
  
SUMMARY: As I write this, I have not had the luxury of sleep for two days. Yes, I have tried to sleep, but some things just aren't meant to be. Trust me when I say that no other summary is necessary.  
  
SPOILERS: Yeah. Sure. I can even think that far right now.   
  
DISCLAIMER: No, Chris does not own them. Neither does 1013 or Fox, or whoever syndicates the show. I do. They just think they own them because of a weird fungus that pervades the minds of mean ol' executives that make certain fans of certain shows wait eight long years for a single kiss that wasn't even that great and wasn't even the idea of said executives in the first place. (I think I just spoiled Existence for the two people on the face of the earth that haven't seen it yet.) Anywho, Chris, love? Anytime you feel like giving them back . . .  
  
FEEDBACK: Yes! Please! Scads of it! gnrgirl@hotmail.com  
  
DISTRIBUTION: If you want it (*snort*), tag it with my name and tell me where it is.  
  
XXXXXX  
  
I always hated sunflower seeds.   
  
The little fuckers always manage to break in just the wrong way so that I end up eating more shell than seed. Especially the salted ones. How Mulder can stand them is beyond me. Then again, there is that 'oral fixation' thing he's got going on . . .  
  
Got going on? What the hell did I take this morning? Was my coffee spiked? Since when do I talk like a retarded 13 year old from the Valley?  
  
"Hey, Scully. Pay attention, this is the greatest part!"  
  
Mulder turns up the television, keenly forgetting that due to his obsession with the film, I've seen this damn movie more times than I'd like to admit. The worst thing is, every time we watch it, it's exactly the same.  
  
Okay, no, I'm not that stupid. I do realize that it's a movie and consequently cannot change, per se. What I meant to say was Mulder's commentary is exactly the same. Ever single word.   
  
Scully, check this part out.  
  
Scully, this is the greatest part in the movie!  
  
Don't you think Bill Murray is the greatest?  
  
Did you know that Egon, from Ghostbusters, directed this?  
  
No, Mulder. I must have missed it the other twelve times you told me.  
  
I crunch down on the bag of Nacho Cheesier Doritos with a cringe. Whoever thought these wonder-puppies up outta be shot. I'll have dragon breath for a week.  
  
Suddenly, Mulder flicks a switch on the idiot box, giving me blessed relief from the antics of the stupid woodchuck-thingie.  
  
"You're bored, aren't you?" He asks, giving me that cute, pouty look that makes me melt. How can I stay angry with this man?  
  
"No, Mulder. I like watching movies with you." God, I really can't stay mad at this man, can I? The way I said that, it sounded like I actually really did enjoy watching this asinine flick.  
  
"Scully . . ." He smirks at me. "You don't have to lie for my benefit."  
  
Ha. Of course I do. He'd shit if he knew half the truth about some of the things I thought about him. Like the three inch layer of dust covering every surface in his cluttered excuse for an apartment. 'Bachelor's pad' my hairy, white ass. Or his insistance that his 'videos' are Frohike's. I mean, enough is enough already. I realize that you are male, and contrary to popular belief, I'd rather have you whacking off to some bleach blonde bimbo than sleeping with Skinner's secretary. Seriously, Mulder, I love you dearly, but sometimes you're just so . . . so . . .  
  
"Mulder, I wasn't lying." And if we really felt like going there, then I'd have to say I'm not lying when I say this. I didn't really say that I liked the movie, I just said that I liked watching them with him. Subtle, but very important, difference.   
  
He just quirks his eyebrow at me again, saying nothing.   
  
Another one of his habits gleaned from me over the years. I suppose I should be flattered. Maybe I am. Hell, I don't even know what I am. And it's all his fault. The bastard confuses me to no end. One minute he's all Rambo-GI Joe-Action Man and the next he's laying in a hospital bed, drugged up and professing his undying love for me. And it's not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, I do. But to tell a girl that you love her, after 6 years no less, while you're high on whatever shit the med-school dropouts spiked you with? Come on, Mulder! I know your mother taught you better than that.  
  
Or did she? I risk a glance in his direction, hoping that he isn't staring at me with those eyes of his.   
  
Crikey, foiled again.  
  
"Scully, you can tell me if you don't want to be here. You don't have to come just to humor me."  
  
Humor him? He has no idea, does he? Well, little man, you got another thing coming.   
  
"Mulder, humoring you does not, in any way, shape, or form, involve watching the stupid gopher movie, which you've never even bothered to ask me if I really liked in the first place, nor does it involve coming over to your place to watch said stupid gopher movie. The only humoring involved between us was my own, chasing after you on your half-baked notion that crickets from Nicaragua were invading the troops stationed at Fort Meade and causing them to experience acute congenital heart failure, all the while hoping that you'd shut up a minute, take a damn good look at your partner and realize that all she really wanted was a shag."  
  
Oh, fuck me. Did I just say that one out loud? Judging from the look on Mulder's face, which has been effectively cleared of the sick-puppy demeanor, yep. I just blurted out that I wanted a shag. A shag? Where the hell did that come from? I'm not British. I don't even like England. Must of been one of those inflight movies . . .  
  
Then he smiled at me. "A shag?"  
  
I, like the love-sick teenager that I feel I am, grin back at him.  
"Spur of the moment thing I assure you. If I would have thought that one through, you might have gotten a better choice of words. Like, say, for example, a screw, banged, humped, jumped my bones, do the horizontal tango . . ."  
  
"Shut up, Scully." He whispers to me. Or at least I think that's what he said. At the moment, we're otherwise occupied and I can't be bothered with the details. Let's just say that Mulder is a hell of a lot more interesting than the stupid gopher movie.  
  
Timeless comedy my hairy, white . . .  
  
Well, you get the idea.  
  
XXXXXXX  
  



End file.
